20 But if Mrs. Pollzoff was doing anything forbidden by the

20 But if Mrs. Pollzoff was doing anything forbidden by the laws of the

United States, she gave no sign of it during the hours which followed.

Her glasses swept the water as they had every other day, and if she


noticed the ships, large or small, plowing through them, she was

remarkably successful in keeping the fact to herself. Except for her

usual directions regarding the course they were to follow, she said


nothing more; and at noon she signified her desire to return to land.

She requested that they come down on the southern part of New

Jersey, but here she merely led the way to a restaurant


where she ordered lunch for both of them.

Seated across from her, Roberta noted that she might be about

thirty-five years old, and her mouth, which was rather large, was


set firmly, like a mask. Without consulting her companion, she

ordered an excellent meal, and after the first course was set before

them, her face relaxed somewhat, as if she


suddenly realized her duties as a hostess.

saidMamaji. “The water, having crossed all of Paris, came in foulenough.

Then people at the pool made it utterly disgusting.” Inconspiratorial


whispers, with shocking details to back up hisclaim, he assured us that

the French had very low standardsof personal hygiene. “Deligny was

bad enough. Bain Royal,another latrine on the Seine, was worse. At


least at Delignythey scooped out the dead fish.” Nevertheless, an

Olympic poolis an Olympic pool, touched by immortal glory. Though it

That is how I got my name when I entered this world, alast, welcome

addition to my family, three years after Ravi:

Piscine Molitor Patel.

“You are an excellent pilot, Miss Langwell,” she remarked. There was a musical quality

to her voice, as if she might sing a21 good contralto, and when her

eyes softened it gave her features an expression of real charm.


wasa cesspool,

Mamaji spoke of

Deligny with

a fond smile.


“You are not so fed up on Mrs. Pollzoff that you want to

“You are not so fed up on Mrs. Pollzoff that you want to

get away from us all, are you?” he demanded.

“No, of course not, but I was wondering what his plan was

and what happened to it, if anything,” Roberta answered.


“Glad to hear you do not want to leave. Gosh, to lose our only

girl sky-pilot would be—unthinkable; but, come to think of it, Howe

came to the house to see Dad one day last week, perhaps they are

getting it fixed up for you to take on the job. I heard the Old Man


say the Federal representative would be at the office today, so

perhaps you’ll get some information. Here we are.” They reached

the plane and Roberta climbed into the seat beside the pilot’s,


adjusted straps and parachute, while the young man gave his

machine15 a thorough looking-over then took his own place.


I still smart a little at the slight. When you’ve suffered agreat deal in

life, each additional pain is both unbearable andtrifling. My life is like


a memento mori painting from Europeanart: there is always a grinning

skull at my side to remind meof the folly of human ambition. I mock

this skull. I look at itand I say, “You’ve got the wrong fellow. You may

not believein life, but I don’t believe in death. Move on!”


The skullsnickers and moves ever closer, but that doesn’t surprise me.
The reason death sticks so closely to life isn’t biologicalnecessity – it’s envy.

Life is so beautiful that death has fallen inlove with it, a jealous,


possessive love that grabs at what it can.
But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two ofno importance,

and gloom is but the passing shadow of acloud. The pink boy also got the

nod from the RhodesScholarship committee. I love him and I hope his time


atOxford was a rich experience. If Lakshmi, goddess of

wealth,one day favours me bountifully, Oxford is


fifth on the list

ofcities I would like

to visit before

I pass on, after


God?””Yes.””That’s a tall order.””Not so tall that you can’t reach.”

God?””Yes.””That’s a tall order.””Not so tall that you can’t reach.”My waiter appeared.

I hesitated for a moment. I orderedtwo coffees. We introduced ourselves.

His name was FrancisAdirubasamy. “Please tell me your story,” I said.

“You must pay proper attention,” he replied.
“I will.” I brought out pen and notepad.
“Tell me, have you been to the botanical garden?” heasked.

“I went yesterday.””Didyou notice the toy train tracks?””Yes, I did.””A train

still runs on Sundays for the amusement of thechildren. But it used to run

twice an hour every day. Didyou take note of the names of the stations?””One


is called Roseville. It’s right next to the rosegarden.””That’s right. And the

other?””I don’t remember.””The sign was taken down. The other station was

oncecalled Zootown. The toy train had two stops: Roseville andZootown.


Once upon a time there was a zoo in thePondicherry Botanical Garden.”He

went on. I took notes, the elements of the story. “Youmust talk to him,”

he said, of the main character. “I knewhim very, very well. He’s a grown man now.


So upon his return to Apple he made killing the Macintosh clones a priority.

When a new version of the Mac operating system shipped in July 1997,

weeks after he had helped oust Amelio, Jobs did not allow the clone makers


to upgrade to it. The head of Power Computing, Stephen “King” Kahng,

organized pro-cloning protests when Jobs appeared at Boston Macworld that

August and publicly warned that the Macintosh OS would die if Jobs declined

to keep licensing it out. “If the platform goes closed, it is over,”


Kahng said. “

Total destruction.

Closed is the

kiss of death.”


Here’s to the Crazy OnesLee Clow, the creative director at

Here’s to the Crazy OnesLee Clow, the creative director at Chiat/Day

who had done the great “1984” ad for the launch of the Macintosh, was

driving in Los Angeles in early July 1997 when his car phone rang.


It was Jobs. “Hi, Lee, this is Steve,” he said. “Guess what? Amelio just

resigned. Can you come up here?”

Apple was going through a review to select a new agency, and Jobs was

not impressed by what he had seen. So he wanted Clow and his firm, by


then called TBWAChiatDay, to compete for the business. “We have to

prove that Apple is still alive,” Jobs said, “and that it still

stands for something special.”


Clow said that he didn’t pitch for accounts. “You know our work,” he said.

But Jobs begged him. It would be hard to reject all the others that were

making pitches, including BBDO and Arnold Worldwide, and bring back


“an old crony,” as Jobs put it. Clow agreed to fly up to Cupertino with

something they could show. Recounting the scene years later, Jobs started to cry.

This chokes me up, this really chokes me up. It was so clear that Lee loved


Apple so much. Here was the best guy in advertising. And he hadn’t pitched

in ten years. Yet here he was, and he was pitching his heart out, because he

loved Apple as much as we did. He and his team had come up with this


brilliant idea, “Think Different.” And it was ten times better than anything

the other agencies showed. It choked me up, and it still makes me cry to

think about it, both the fact that Lee cared so much and also how brilliant his


“Think Different” idea was. Every once in a while, I find myself in the presence

of purity—purity of spirit and love—and I always cry. It always just reaches in

and grabs me. That was one of those moments. There was a purity about that

I will never forget. I cried in my office as


he was showing

me the idea, and

I still cry when

I think about it.


It had taken Microsoft a few years to replicate Macintosh’s graphical

It had taken Microsoft a few years to replicate Macintosh’s graphical user interface,

but by 1990 it had come out with Windows 3.0, which began the company’s march

to dominance in the desktop market. Windows 95, which was released in 1995,


became the most successful operating system ever, and Macintosh sales began

to collapse. “Microsoft simply ripped off what other people did,” Jobs later said.

“Apple deserved it. After I left, it didn’t invent anything new. The


Mac hardly improved. It was a sitting duck for Microsoft.”

His frustration with Apple was evident when he gave a talk to a Stanford Business

School club at the home of a student, who asked him to sign a Macintosh keyboard.


Jobs agreed to do so if he could remove the keys that had been added to the

Mac after he left. He pulled out his car keys and pried off the four arrow cursor keys,

which he had once banned, as well as the top row of F1, F2, F3 . . . function keys.


“I’m changing the world one keyboard at a time,” he deadpanned.

Then he signed the mutilated keyboard.

During his 1995 Christmas vacation in Kona Village, Hawaii, Jobs went walking along


the beach with his friend Larry Ellison, the irrepressible Oracle chairman. They discussed

making a takeover bid for Apple and restoring Jobs as its head. Ellison said he could

line up $3 billion in financing: “I will buy Apple, you will get 25% of it right away for


being CEO, and we can restore it to its past glory.” But Jobs demurred. “I decided

I’m not a hostile-takeover kind of guy,” he explained. “If they had asked

me to come back, it might have been different.”


By 1996 Apple’s share of the market had fallen to 4% from a high of 16% in the late

1980s. Michael Spindler, the German-born chief of Apple’s European operations who

had replaced Sculley as CEO in 1993, tried to sell the company to Sun, IBM, and


Hewlett-Packard. That failed, and he was ousted in February 1996 and replaced by

Gil Amelio, a research engineer who was CEO of National Semiconductor. During his

first year the company lost $1 billion, and the stock price,

which had been $70 in 1991, fell to


$14, even as the tech

bubble was pushing

other stocks into

the stratosphere.


It was dark and Merry could see nothing as he lay

It was dark and Merry could see nothing as he lay

on the ground rolled in a blanket; yet though the night was airless and windless, all about him hidden trees were sighing softly. He lifted his head. Then he heard it again: a sound like faint drums in the wooded hills and mountain-steps. The throb would cease suddenly and then be taken up again at some other point, now nearer, now further off. He wondered if the watchmen had heard it.

He could not see them, but he knew that all round him were the companies of the Rohirrim. He could smell the horses in the dark, and could hear their shiftings and their soft stamping on the needle-covered ground. The host was bivouacked in the pine-woods that clustered about Eilenach Beacon, a tall hill standing up from the long ridges of the Drúadan Forest that lay beside the great road in East Anórien.

Tired as he was Merry could not sleep. He had ridden now for four days on end, and the ever-deepening gloom had slowly weighed down his heart. He began to wonder why he had been so eager to come, when he had been given every excuse, even his lord’s command, to stay behind. He wondered, too, if the old King knew that he had been disobeyed and was angry. Perhaps not. There seemed to be some understanding between Dernhelm and Elfhelm, the Marshal who commanded the éored in which they were riding. He and all his men ignored Merry and pretended not to hear if he spoke. He might have been just another bag that Dernhelm was carrying. Dernhelm was no comfort: he never spoke to anyone. Merry felt small, unwanted, and lonely. Now the time was anxious, and the host was in peril. They were less than a day’s ride from the out-walls of Minas Tirith that encircled the townlands. Scouts had been sent ahead. Some had not returned. Others hastening back had reported that the road was held in force against them. A host of the enemy was encamped upon it, three miles west of Amon D?n, and some strength of men was already thrusting along the road and was no more than three leagues away. Orcs were roving in the hills and woods along the roadside. The king and ?omer held council in the watches of the night.

Merry wanted somebody to talk to, and he thought of Pippin. But that only increased his restlessness. Poor Pippin, shut up in the great city of stone, lonely and afraid. Merry wished he was a tall Rider like ?omer and could blow a horn or something and go galloping to his rescue. He sat up, listening to the drums that were beating again, now nearer at hand. Presently he heard voices speaking low, and he saw dim half-shrouded lanterns passing through the trees. Men nearby began to move uncertainly in the dark.

A tall figure loomed up and stumbled over him,

cursing the tree-roots. He recognized the voice of the Marshal, Elfhelm.

‘I am not a tree-root, Sir,’ he said, ‘nor a bag,

but a bruised hobbit.

The least you can do in amends is to tell me what is afoot.’


If Jobs was prepping for conciliation, it didn’t show in the

If Jobs was prepping for conciliation, it didn’t show in the choice of

movie he wanted to see with Murray that night. He picked Patton,

the epic of the never-surrender general. But he had lent his copy of


the tape to his father, who had once ferried troops for the general,

so he drove to his childhood home with Murray to retrieve it. His

parents weren’t there, and he didn’t have a key. They walked around


the back, checked for unlocked doors or windows, and finally gave up.

The video store didn’t have a copy of Patton in stock, so in the end

he had to settle for watching the 1983 film

adaptation of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal.


Sunday, May 26: As planned, Jobs and Sculley met in back of the Stanford

campus on Sunday afternoon and walked for several hours amid the rolling

hills and horse pastures. Jobs reiterated his plea that he should have an


operational role at Apple. This time Sculley stood firm. It won’t work, he

kept saying. Sculley urged him to take the role of being a product visionary

with a lab of his own, but Jobs rejected this as making him into a mere


“figurehead.” Defying all connection to reality, he countered with the proposal

that Sculley give up control of the entire company to him. “Why don’t you

become chairman and I’ll become president and chief executive officer?”


he suggested. Sculley was struck by how earnest he seemed.

“Steve, that doesn’t make any sense,” Sculley replied. Jobs then proposed

that they split the duties of running the company, with him handling the


product side and Sculley handling marketing and business. But the board

had not only emboldened Sculley, it had ordered him to bring Jobs to heel.

“One person has got to run the company,” he replied.


“I’ve got the support and you don’t.”

On his way home, Jobs stopped at Mike Markkula’s house. He wasn’t

there, so Jobs left a message asking him to come to dinner the

following evening. He would also invite the core of loyalists from his


Macintosh team. He hoped that

they could persuade

Markkula of the folly

of siding with Sculley.


Sculley’s wife was surprised to see him back in the middle

Sculley’s wife was surprised to see him back in the middle of the day.

“I’ve failed,” he said to her forlornly. She was a volatile woman who had

never liked Jobs or appreciated her husband’s infatuation with him. So


when she heard what had happened, she jumped into her car and sped

over to Jobs’s office. Informed that he had gone to the Good Earth

restaurant, she marched over there and confronted him in the parking


lot as he was coming out with loyalists on his Macintosh team.

“Steve, can I talk to you?” she said. His jaw dropped. “Do you have any

idea what a privilege it has been even to know someone as fine as John


Sculley?” she demanded. He averted his gaze. “Can’t you look me in the

eyes when I’m talking to you?” she asked. But when Jobs did so—giving

her his practiced, unblinking stare—she recoiled. “Never mind, don’t look


at me,” she said. “When I look into most people’s eyes, I see a soul.

When I look into your eyes, I see a bottomless pit, an empty hole,

a dead zone.” Then she walked away.


Saturday, May 25: Mike Murray drove to Jobs’s house in Woodside to

offer some advice: He should consider accepting the role of being a new

product visionary, starting AppleLabs, and getting away from headquarters.


Jobs seemed willing to consider it. But first he would have to restore peace

with Sculley. So he picked up the telephone and surprised Sculley with an

olive branch. Could they meet the following afternoon, Jobs asked, and


take a walk together in the hills above Stanford University. They had

walked there in the past, in happier times, and maybe on such a

walk they could work things out.


Jobs did not know that Sculley had told Eisenstat he wanted to quit,

but by then it didn’t matter. Overnight, he had changed his mind and

decided to stay. Despite the blowup the day before,


he was still eager

for Jobs to like him.

So he agreed to meet

the next afternoon.


When Yü-ts’un heard their appeal, he flew into a fiery rage.

When Yü-ts’un heard their appeal, he flew into a fiery rage. “What!” he exclaimed.

“How could a case of such gravity have taken place as the murder of a man, and the culprits have been allowed to run away scot-free, without being arrested?

Issue warrants, and despatch constables to at once lay hold of the relatives of the bloodstained criminals and bring them to be examined by means of torture.”

Thereupon he espied a Retainer, who was standing by the judgment-table, wink at him, signifying that he should not issue the warrants. Yü-t’sun gave way to secret suspicion, and felt compelled to desist.

Withdrawing from the Court-room, he retired into a private chamber, from whence he dismissed his followers, only keeping this single Retainer to wait upon him.

The Retainer speedily advanced and paid his obeisance. “Your worship,” he said smiling,

“has persistently been rising in official honours, and increasing in wealth so that, in the course of about eight or nine years, you have forgotten me.”

“Your face is, however, extremely familiar,” observed Yü-ts’un, “but I cannot, for the moment, recall who you are.”

“Honourable people forget many things,” remarked the Retainer, as he smiled.

“What! Have you even forgotten the place where you started in life? and do you not remember what occurred,

in years gone by, in the Hu Lu Temple?”

Yü-ts’un was filled with extreme astonishment; and past events then began to dawn upon him.

The fact is that this Retainer had been at one time a young priest in the Hu Lu temple; but as, after its destruction by fire, he had no place to rest his frame, he remembered how light and easy was, after all,

this kind of occupation,

and being unable to reconcile himself to the solitude and quiet of a temple,

he accordingly availed himself of his years,

which were as yet few, to let his hair grow, and become a retainer.


Pao-yü, having concluded his scrutiny of her, put on a smile and

Pao-yü, having concluded his scrutiny of her, put on a smile and said, “This cousin I have already seen in days gone by.”

“There you are again with your nonsense,” exclaimed lady Chia, sneeringly; “how could you have seen her before?”
“Though I may not have seen her, ere this,” observed Pao-yü with a smirk, “yet when I look at her face, it seems so familiar, and to my mind, it would appear as if we had been old acquaintances; just as if, in fact, we were now meeting after a long separation.”
“That will do! that will do!” remarked dowager lady Chia; “such being the case, you will be the more intimate.”
Pao-yü, thereupon, went up to Tai-yü, and taking a seat next to her, continued to look at her again with all intentness for a good long while.
“Have you read any books, cousin?” he asked.
“I haven’t as yet,” replied Tai-yü, “read any books, as I have only been to school for a year; all I know are simply a few characters.”
“What is your worthy name, cousin?” Pao-yü went on to ask; whereupon Tai-yü speedily told him her name.
“Your style?” inquired Pao-yü; to which question Tai-yü replied, “I have no style.”
“I’ll give you a style,” suggested Pao-yü smilingly; “won’t the double style ‘P’in P’in,’ ‘knitting brows,’ do very well?”
“From what part of the standard books does that come?” T’an Ch’un hastily interposed.
“It is stated in the Thorough Research into the state of Creation from remote ages to the present day,” Pao-yü went on to explain, “that, in the western quarter, there exists a stone, called Tai, (black,) which can be used, in lieu of ink,